


across clusters and galaxies, and universes, too

by la reine malheureuse (rosewithoutathorn)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Gen, Post-TLJ, Regret, Rey's Mind Palace is the Millennium Falcon, Unacknowledged pining, Vignette, and other emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 22:45:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17170874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewithoutathorn/pseuds/la%20reine%20malheureuse
Summary: Rey closes the door of the Falcon.





	across clusters and galaxies, and universes, too

 

Rey closes the door of the Falcon, shuts and bolts from the inside that tiny little window into her soul: and as she does so, she feels some of the Light in her heart flicker and fade.

Sacrifices.

It turns her cold, and she shudders as the chill sweeps through her. For a long, awful moment, she thinks she might never be truly warm again. Worth it, though, to imagine that the little light she has lost might be a little gained for him. Balance - like Master Skywalker had said. Or, at least, something approaching it.

That’s not how the Force works, of course _(and she can hear him scoff, see the lazy roll of the eyes she recognises as purely his mother, when his mind reaches into hers)_ . Nor does a bond break simply because one wills it to. As much as she had hoped _(prayed, willed)_ it would _(please don’t I can’t be alone again I can’t I can’t I can’t)_ it does not. So Rey builds durasteel walls, scavenges for parts, tinkers with an engine, shoves her consciousness in her own little ship that bears an uncanny resemblance to the Millenium Falcon, and outside it is the vacuum of space that no living being can penetrate. She can’t block out the Force - isn’t sure she’d want to, even if she could - but she can bloody well block out Ben Solo.

 

Outside her little Falcon with no windows, the bond thrums. Or rather, not outside, _inside,_ sound permeating the walls, reverberating through the corridors as it batters her defences. She’d left no windows on purpose -- this isn’t real, after all, it’s all in her head and she doesn’t need to see anything, has no place to be or direction to go. Windows are weak points, as any good scavenger knows. She doesn’t want to risk looking out and glimpsing him, his face, lip trembling, hand outstretched _(please)_ ; or worse, bearing down on her little freighter in a star destroyer with a snarl.

So she ignores him, to the best of her ability; ignores the pound of his fists against the door, resists the urge to prod and poke the new little patch of darkness in her soul that casts a looming, red-tinged shadow.

She hadn’t wanted this; but neither had he, and she is reminded of that every time she feels the brush of his mind against hers _(a battering ram, a hollering)_ or sees a swirl of black out of the corner of her eye _(Kriff, she hates that cloak)_ . And every night, as Rey drifts off to sleep, the _thump_ of Ben Solo’s heartbeat is loud in her ears against the low hum of engines and the white noise of the Force.


End file.
